


Onward crawls the roach

by pseudogrub



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Brain Damage, Cannibalism, Delusions, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Murder, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudogrub/pseuds/pseudogrub
Summary: A story about my courier oc, yura, who struggles with the joys a bullet to your brain can bring!





	Onward crawls the roach

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings on this fic, it gets a bit fucky later on.  
> This was basically me going "what if the courier was actually affected by being shot in the head" and it all went downhill from here.  
> Btw this isn't beta-d, and this is my first fanfic ever so sorry if its awful :3

When he awoke it was with a biting ringing in his ears and blood swirling in his mouth. Reaching out ahead further disturbed the lightly packed dirt covering him, the loose air pockets between clumps teasing him into consciousness. The powerless waving of his arms quickly turned to frantic scrabbling as the agitated sod streamed into his gullet. 

Bursting from the earth, the man spat and heaved and shed silent tears, his thoughts sloshing around his skull much like he expected his brains were doing, if the excruciating pain that swirled alongside them meant anything. Suddenly, his thoughts were forced to recollect themselves as panic hit him in a wave  
“Where the fuck am I?”  
The thought spurred him into a standing position, desperately surveying his surroundings for any clues.  
“...Graveyard.” He said quietly to himself.  
“Well no shit! What clued you in, was it the climbing out of a grave part?” Said another voice that most definitely was not his.

The courier span on one heel as his blood ran cold, attempting to locate the source of the voice.  
“H-hello?!” He called out tentatively, peering into the dark curtain of the night, hoping to make out a form or a face or something amongst the shadows. Seeing nobody around, he came to the most reasonable conclusion one could come to when in a graveyard at night; ghosts.  
At this though, he decided that cheating death was a close-enough brush with the supernatural for one night, and high-tailed it out of there

____________

Sitting on a large rock under the mojave’s relentless midday sun, the courier decided his name was Yura, after one of the townsfolk who happened to be near the edge of wherever he was yelled “You’re an idiot!” as he’d ran off into the desert. It was the first thing he’d heard another human say since digging himself out of hell, (though he suspected the person may have tried to say some other things first, but his adrenaline filled ears had tuned them out), and he thought that was deserving of being his new name. He knew that wasn’t how names worked, nor was it his actual name, but no matter how long he sat on that sun-baked rock with his head in his hands and his eyes scrunched up tight, he couldn’t remember what his real name was- or anything else for that matter.

He knew he’d been shot, that he probably shouldn’t be alive, and that he was originally delivering something…..important. Yura stood up, brushing the wasteland’s dust off his jeans, and considered all the information he had to go off. He touched a hand to his forehead, flinching as his fingertips brushed the frankly gross looking wound there. A sharp shot of pain came as punishment for his curiosity, making him slump to the ground and groan as the world seemed to dance around him. Yura was sure he had been walking for days, surviving on prickly pear fruit, insects and C̴̗̩O͖̜͇͍͇͞R̛̮̫͓PS̶͍̻̗̠̤͚E̜͚̲̣̺͔S̡̹͈͔, along with the sweet juices these contained within. A bullet wound in your brain wasn’t any good for your mental state, and he reckoned a three day old bullet wound was just as bad. “Definitely worse” he hoarsely wheezed to himself as a large, staring eye opened on the ground in front of him. 

As he pushed up off the ground, distant voices heckled him, laughter spilling out as he struggled in agony. Yura knew better than to look for the voice’s source at this point; it was almost always a voice from nowhere, residing only in his head. The only real sounds he heard were the hissings of geckos and the gentle rustle of busy tumbleweeds. The mojave’s hill littered skyline wobbled in front of him- from heat or dizziness, he didn’t know- and he continued his trek towards nowhere in particular.

____________

The horrified gasp Yura heard just behind him was nothing he considered worth investigating. The voices tended to take a sort of disgusted attitude towards him, even when he did things they had initially suggested. An example being, tearing flesh from the bones of…..something.. with his teeth like a starved nightstalker.  
“Oh shut up, this was your idea” He retorted in a voice that barely felt like his own anymore. He heard footsteps, but continued eating. The ‘footsteps’ stopped behind him, retching at either the smell or the sight of his meal. Yura continued to adamantly ignore the noises until he felt a shaking hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped a mile out of his skin.  
“Well. This is new.” he thought to himself, frozen in place. Slowly his neck craned round to reveal a woman standing by him, trembling slightly. Her desert hardened features bore several contradicting emotions: fear, courage, concern, apprehension and disgust. She coughed slightly, eyeing him up for any weapons, then crouching down to his eye level and saying in a slow, careful voice  
“Are you okay?”  
This simple question stopped him in his tracks, and life, unable to slow down in time, crashed straight into him. No. He wasn't ok. 

Tears began to flow freely from his hazy eyes, and sobs wracked his frail body. Shadowy figures came to watch him suffer laughing and staring with their horrible, needling gazes, but the woman, overcoming the shock of the sudden sobbing, was able to push through them, placing a comforting hand on his back.  
“You need some help.” she said matter of factly, removing her hand from Yura’s back to pull a map from her satchel. She sat with him, creating a small, crude copy of the area they were in on a scrap of paper, not too far away from Freeside. “Look for the old mormon fort once you get there” she instructed, passing to the slightly more composed man “They can help you with ...whatever is going on there” She finished, with a flourish directed at his weeping bullet wound.  
“T..thank you” Yura muttered blankly, trying his hardest to tune out the voices telling him she’s a spy, she’s a murderer, she’s sending you somewhere she can kill you- don't trust her!

They parted ways, the strange woman finally giving Yura a goal to work towards; the ‘big brick fort’ in freeside.


End file.
